


The Right Way To Ask

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Community: kink_bingo, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, First Time, M/M, Wake-Up Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles makes all kinds of offers when he's drunk, but somehow they don't appeal to Erik the way he'd like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Way To Ask

«I want,» Charles thinks at Erik, stumbling, catching Erik around the waist, «I want to suck your cock.»

Erik props Charles back up, trying to get him upright. This succeeds only in getting Charles to lean on his shoulder instead of his waist, which is a marginal improvement, Erik supposes. The only problem is that now Charles is close enough for Erik to tell that he stinks of cologne.

Charles doesn't wear cologne.

Erik's cock indeed; Erik wonders whose cock Charles's mouth was on tonight. Maybe it was that redheaded man at the bar, or possibly that man with the dark hair and dark eyes, the one they met on what Erik thought was their way out. That was just before Charles disappeared for ten minutes, and Erik spent all ten of those minutes searching for him. Erik hopes Charles wasn't using his powers to ensure Erik couldn't find him, but he can't rule anything out.

«Erik,» Charles thinks, clutching at Erik's side. «Please? Please, I want to, please...»

"You say this every time you have too much to drink," Erik says, "but you've never actually done it."

"That's because you turn me down," Charles tells him, out loud-- another marginal improvement. Oddly enough, Charles's thoughts are more slurred than his voice when he's been drinking; when he's speaking aloud, Erik has a better chance of comprehending him.

"I can't imagine why," Erik says, rolling his eyes. "You can't even stand up straight, Charles; this is no time to have this discussion."

"I want to," Charles says again, and he comes to a stop, grabbing Erik and halting him, too. Erik sighs and turns to look at him.

He'll remember this in the morning; they both will. Charles tends to spend the next day a little twitchy, looking at Erik and then looking away, his expression clouded, but he's never pretended he can't recall the previous night's propositions.

He's never apologized for them, either, but Erik supposes that's just as well. Bad enough that Charles, who'll fuck anything that moves, never seems to want him when he's sober. It would be worse to hear the apology: _sorry about that, Erik, I was drunk, it didn't mean anything._

No, the fact that it doesn't mean anything is precisely why Erik turns him down every time. He sighs and starts dragging Charles along again.

"I want," Charles says, after another few minutes' worth of stumbling steps. Thank God, they're nearly back to the motel, but Charles has used that time to get somewhat more friendly with his grip on Erik than Erik would have liked. He isn't crossing any lines, isn't touching Erik anywhere that causes Erik to stiffen and push him away, but his right hand is securely on Erik's hip now, his fingers brushing gently up and down.

Charles licks his lips. Erik can hear it, but he does _not_ look; he's spent too much time since they met looking at Charles's gorgeous, incredibly pink mouth. " _Erik._ I want to suck you. Can I?"

"Do you really think I'd take advantage of an inebriated friend?" Erik boosts Charles up the stairs, nearly there now, and once they're on the upper floor he steers Charles over to their motel room, simply nodding at the lock to open it and push the door open. It might not take both hands to get Charles through the door, but then again, it might. Charles doesn't exactly seem keen on letting Erik go.

«I wish,» Charles thinks, then, «ow!» as his elbow slams against the doorframe. He lets Erik pull him sideways through the door, and finally they're inside, and Erik can close and lock the door behind them.

"You can stop wishing," Erik says, guiding Charles to his bed. "Irresistible as you are this way--" and he catches a wave of hurt from Charles, who drops down onto his bed and looks up beguilingly, eyes wide and blinking, lips parted, "--I prefer men who are going to remember me in the morning."

Charles squints at him. "That's not true," he says. He lifts his hand to his temple, his fingers pressed in until they nearly flex backwards, and says, "You never even tell most of them your name."

"I'd at least prefer it if they remember the fuck, then," Erik says. "Can you get yourself undressed?"

"What if the answer's no?"

"Then you'll be sleeping in your clothes."

"Fine," Charles mutters. "You know, I'm not as pissed as I look."

"That's a relief. You'd be no good to me in a fight right now."

"Are we expecting a fight?" Charles shakes his head before Erik can respond. "No, when are you ever _not_ expecting a fight, I forgot who I was talking to."

It's a flippant phrase, Erik knows Charles doesn't even mean it, but he clenches his teeth anyway. _You would forget me, wouldn't you, as soon as you'd had me. You'd forget this--_ and his mind fills with the thought of Charles's mouth on him, the sloppy way he'd do it now, while drunk; he imagines what it would be like to back Charles across the room and then drag him to his knees, Charles pinned between the wall and Erik, mouth open as Erik unbuckles his belt. He imagines Charles's teeth scraping against him, rough because he's drunk and eager, and slamming into his mouth harder every time, leaving Charles hoarse for days.

He wants more than that; he wants so much more more than that, wants Charles beneath him, twisting under him, panting and begging with tears rolling down his cheeks as he struggles to get more. He wants to pin Charles's hips with both hands and keep him wanting, keep him begging, barely moving his cock a fraction of an inch and teasing Charles with every desperate moment of it.

He'd take more than just the punishments he wants to levy forth; he'd take tenderness, too, Charles lying on his stomach, his face between Erik's legs, licking gently at Erik's inner thighs before making his way down to Erik's cock. He'd spoon up behind Charles, pushing into him and rocking gently against him, his arm around Charles's chest, his face pressed to the back of Charles's neck, whispering out the things he's felt since that first night in the water...

He shakes his head, hard, pushing those thoughts aside. Not soon enough, it seems, because Charles is staring up at him, licking his lips and swallowing.

"Erik," Charles whispers, "in a _heartbeat_ \--"

Erik is tempted, sometimes, to leave Charles in their motel room, alone; tempted to go back to the bar where Charles found his ten minutes of companionship and find some for himself. He looks at the motel room door for several long seconds, certain he could do it if he wanted; it's early enough yet, and he recalls a few men who looked at him, with whom he wouldn't mind a bit of physical relief.

When he looks back at Charles, though, Charles is rubbing at the center of his chest with the heel of his hand, and he's not looking at Erik. Erik sighs.

"I'll get ice," he says, taking up the ice bucket. "You'll want some water before you try to sleep, I think."

"Thank you," Charles whispers. And a few minutes' separation does them both some good; when Erik gets back, Charles is tucked into bed, down to a t-shirt and probably boxers underneath the covers. Erik fetches him a glass of ice water, and Charles drinks it gratefully.

"I'm sorry."

Too many nights end with Charles saying he's sorry. "I know," Erik says lightly, and he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, too.

* * *

There's a soft, slightly-rough drag against Erik's inner thigh, quickly going cool in the air-conditioned chill of the hotel room. Erik shifts, slowly coming awake, but then there's heat and wetness against his balls, drawing up and over and making a line up the length of his cock, _yes, oh, yes_ \--

He comes awake in a rush, pressing up on his elbows so he can glance down the bed. This is upping the stakes by a considerable margin, and Erik's going to stop Charles, he _will_ , as soon as he can catch his breath and get Charles's attention. "Charles!"

Instead of answering, Charles sweeps his tongue around the crown of Erik's cock, which causes Erik to drop back down, panting. "What time is it?" Erik asks, though it's light enough in the room it must be morning.

«I thought you'd like a different sort of wake-up call,» Charles thinks at him. Erik lifts his head again and frowns. Charles sighs and takes his mouth off Erik's cock. "And I was tired of waiting," he says. "You told me how much you wanted it last night, don't pretend those images weren't meant for me--"

Erik grimaces. Meant for him-- no, not really, but he'd known Charles would see them. "That doesn't mean you have the right to do this," he points out, not unkindly. He wonders how Charles managed to get him out of his boxers; maybe Charles deliberately kept him asleep until he was in position. It should make him angry, but the determination and single-minded focus that must have taken... it all goes straight to his cock, which jerks against Charles's face. Charles bends his head down and licks another long, wet stripe up the center of his cock, and Erik shivers. "Charles..."

«Tell me no,» Charles says. «Tell me no and I'll stop, but I want you, I've _wanted_ you, all along I've wanted it to be you. Please.» He swirls his tongue around the head, and Erik falls back against the pillows, moaning softly. «Give me this and I promise there won't be anyone else. I swear.»

It's too much, everything Erik's wanted to hear from him, and he reminds himself sharply that there's no reason to believe this will last. A week ago there was that strapping young mutant they failed to recruit; a few nights back there was the gentleman with the terrible dress sense; last night, whoever it was that stank of Aqua Velva. "I don't believe you," Erik whispers, even as his hands come up to card through Charles's hair.

«Believe in this,» Charles thinks, and as he sucks Erik's cock into his mouth, he overwhelms even that sensation with a barrage of memories, all Erik. The moment he first felt Erik in the water. The exhilaration of seeing the anchor snap through the yacht, tearing the boat to pieces and leaving it wrecked in the water. The urgency of holding him and praying he'd convince Erik to surface before they both ran out of air. How desperate he was to keep Erik from going, and how hard it was for him not to use his influence to ensure it. His happiness when he saw Erik again the next morning. The way he feels every time he looks at Erik, and the way it's hurt him every time Erik gently pushes him away, or tells him no, and the pale imitation of want he searches out with other men, instead of the one he really wants...

Erik clutches at Charles's hair, rocking up, and Charles lets him, revels in the sensations. He shares the tug he's getting, the way it pleases him, and the taste of Erik's cock and how long he's waited to have it. He shares his own arousal, his cock hard and trapped beneath him.

«You, always you, I always wanted you,» Charles thinks, and Erik closes his eyes, pushed past all hope of holding out, and comes, hot and fast and deep inside Charles's mouth.

Charles doesn't waste any time; he climbs up the bed, lying down on top of Erik, and he shoves his boxers down to his thighs, rubbing his cock against the crease of Erik's thigh, too. Erik shifts, gets a hand between them; he directs Charles's cock down, between his thighs, and then closes them around him. Charles gasps, thrusting down, and Erik feels a burst of triumph at his expression-- Charles looks torn apart, desperate like Erik's never seen him. He scrambles for purchase on the bed, and when that fails him, he reaches for Erik's shoulders, his hands slipping under and curving around the top. He thrusts and keeps thrusting, friction heating them both, but it's clear Charles doesn't care.

«Yes, yes, Erik, _yes_ ,» Charles thinks, mouth open and slick, and Erik gets a hand behind Charles's head and tugs him down, capturing that mouth of his in a kiss, licking his lips and then thrusting his tongue into Charles's mouth, kissing him hard enough to leave his lips even more swollen, redder than ever.

 _Mine_ , he thinks, _damn you, finally, mine,_ and with that, Charles drags his mouth away, crying out, his cock jerking between Erik's thighs and leaving him wet and sticky. Erik bends his head, kissing the tight arched curve of Charles's throat, and Charles moans and slowly drops his head, resting it against Erik's shoulder.

"Yours," Charles whispers, when he's caught his breath, "did you mean it?"

"You heard that, did you," Erik murmurs. Charles nods, his hair brushing Erik's cheek. Erik wraps both arms around Charles, holding him tightly, trying to force himself to believe in all the things Charles showed him earlier. _You wanted me that badly, how could you have gone so long without saying, why didn't I ever know..._

«I thought... that if you wanted me as much as I _thought_ you did,» and Charles shares a sense of his confusion, the attraction he'd been so sure was mutual, and yet Erik turning him down over and over again-- never quite making the connection, it seemed, that Erik didn't want to be as disposable as the other men Charles disappeared with. «I thought you would have said, already, but I couldn't keep myself from...» All those times he'd asked, when he was drunk; Erik wonders, suddenly, if the extra drinks and the loosened inhibitions were all for _his_ benefit, all so Charles could screw up his courage and try again, asking over and over for what he really wanted.

He can feel Charles nodding, his forehead rubbing against Erik's temple: confirmation, agreement. «And it did me no good whatsoever.»

"You were asking the wrong way," Erik points out gently.

«I know that _now_.»

Erik tightens his arms around Charles's waist. "Yes," he murmurs, "yes, I think you do."

He can feel Charles squeezing his eyes shut. «Erik,» he thinks, «please...»

Erik gathers up his thoughts, presses them forward to Charles's mind. «If we're doing this,» he thinks, «no more substitutions. No more Dutch courage. All I want is you.»

Charles slips his hands out from under Erik's shoulders, cups Erik's face in both hands. «Yes,» he promises. «Just you, I just want you...»

«You'd better mean it,» Erik thinks back at him, as Charles lowers his face, presses another kiss to Erik's waiting mouth. «You'd better mean all of it, there's no going back now.»

«No going back,» Charles agrees, moaning softly against Erik's lips. «Promise me.»

They're promising each other with this kiss; Erik knows Charles can feel it the same way he can. He buries his hands in Charles's hair and holds him close, making Charles a promise that takes their breath away.

 _-end-_


End file.
